


This World Is In A Losing Game

by spockandawe



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cloaca, Cock Piercing, Explicit Sexual Content, Fingerfucking, First Time, M/M, Oral Sex, SBURB, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-31 23:17:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3996955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockandawe/pseuds/spockandawe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes you longer to find your way back home than you’d like, especially since it turns out to be hard to retrace your steps when the whole goddamn planet seems to be made of the same copy-pasted industrial buildings without a landmark in sight. Fuck this noise, next time you go out, you’re leaving a trail of smuppets as you go to find your way back. Just follow the trail of plush rumps.</p><p>                As it happens, you find Dave before you find home. He’s very easy to see, because he’s floating in midair. And he has wings. And also he’s bright orange. You were only gone for a few hours, what the <em>fuck.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	This World Is In A Losing Game

                So you basically have no idea what the fuck is going it. It’s cool, you’re cool, the coolest, no need for panic in these parts. And that’s not quite true, you’ve figured out _some_ of what’s happening. You’ve got enough of a clue to know that when there’s giant meteors raining down on the city and Dave won’t stop sneaking around sprinkling mysterious machinery all over the apartment, whatever he’s trying to do involves getting the fuck out of dodge. And hey, you need to cut a meteor in half to buy your little bro some extra time? That’s something you can do.

                But however much of a clue that might be, it’s not nearly enough to make you happy. All this messaging back and forth makes it awful hard to eavesdrop what Dave and his friends are talking about, and now that he’s gotten older it’s a lot harder to read a whole conversation over his shoulder without him realizing. Kids these days with their blue tooths and their hula hoops. You might be a little nostalgic for the good old days of eavesdropping on a landline call from another room.

                Long story short, you understand just enough of what’s happening to make you worried. You started the day thinking you were doing a pretty fucking awesome job of bro-ing it up, getting Dave all trained up and shit, teaching him to take on everything and anything and to _win_. He’s probably only a few years out from giving you a run for your money. But okay, you don’t think it was _that_ unreasonable an oversight that you didn’t prepare him for literal goddamn monsters.

                You’ve got things just fine. Little monsters, okay, no biggie. You’re not even that worried about leaving Dave to take these guys on solo. They’re like, kiddie sized, it’s actually a pretty logical training step if you had any control over this motherfucking situation whatsoever. You don’t think it’s _that_ big a deal to leave him to fend for himself while you go scout things out, get your bearings.

                However, comma. You’ve gotten just far enough from your apartment to be sure it’ll be a pain in the ass to get back when you start coming across the bigger guys. The _fuck_. You’re getting some idea of what this game business is about, but you’re pretty sure that a giant octopus lava monster is going beyond reasonable limits.

                And oops, there goes the brotherly worry alarm. You’re still more than fine, you haven’t had a strife this interesting in years, but _Dave_. Goddammit, if you’d know this shit was coming, you could have pushed him harder and faster, gotten him actually set to deal with all of this crazy-ass bullshit instead of limiting yourself to mundane everyday rooftop duels. Would’ve been easy to amp things up to twice daily strifes, you coulda booby-trapped the fridge more than just loading it up with swords, something to keep him on his toes. And you should have hidden the food better while you were at it, this bullshit land of his is made of metal and lava and how the hell is he going to know how to forage for food here? And shit, did you ever do anything to his bedroom to make sure he’s always on his guard, or had you just thought about it? _Fuck._ Dave is going to get his ass killed here, and it’s your fault for not doing a better job of getting him ready.

                So you amble back on home, as fast as it’s possible to amble without losing the essential amble-tude of your walk. It’s tempting to flash step all the way back, but that kind of sprint is just asking for trouble. Not that you’re superstitious. Or worried. Nope, everything’s fine, you’re making your way back before you miss your curfew and get locked out for the night.

                It still takes you longer than you’d like, especially since it turns out to be hard to retrace your steps when the whole goddamn planet seems to be made of the same copy-pasted industrial buildings without a landmark in sight. Fuck this noise, next time you go out, you’re leaving a trail of smuppets as you go to find your way back. Just follow the trail of plush rumps. If you were fretting, maybe you’d be doing something stupid like fine-tuning the weaponizing on your sylladex. But as it happens, you’re simply making the sensible decision to reorganize your sylladex, shit’s gotten untidy, and if you happen to be coming up with the perfect rap to access all those captchalogued weapons at the same time, that’s just because you have a very active mind that needs constant stimulation to keep itself occupied. What. You do.

                As it happens, you find Dave before you find home. He’s very easy to see, because he’s floating in midair. And he has wings. And also he’s bright orange. You were only gone for a few hours, what the _fuck._

                And as you come up behind him, you can see that he’s got a sword sticking right the fuck out of his back. Your stomach does a queasy little flip-flop, and you have to stop and take a moment to pull your act together, take a close look and make sure he’s still breathing. Chillness reacquired, you drawl, “I never said you could get a piercing.”

                He jumps, and damn, it’s definitely different when that means he shoots straight up in the air and hovers there for a moment before floating back down to eye level. “Bro?” You just give him an up-nod, because that’s a question with a pretty obvious answer. You can see his throat jump as he swallows. “It’s really you?”

                You shrug, just one shoulder. “In the flesh.”

                Dave drifts a little closer. You can see his hands twitch before he controls it, and you can feel just how close he’s watching you, even behind his shades. Isn’t like he has the best poker face at the best of times, but this is… not good, and you’re wondering more and more what the fuck _happened_ after you ditched him to go off adventuring on your own. And you can’t ask or anything, wouldn’t be cool, but the need to know is killing you.

                Dave shrugs too, fast and jerky. “’s just. Been a while.” The beat of the conversation is off, and you can’t pin down why. “I think it’s probably time for a dramatic family reunion.”

                You can hear the unspoken ‘for the ironies,’ dangling off the end there, and thinking about saying that at all means this _isn’t_ ironic and seriously, what the fuck. “After what, two hours? Getting a little needy there, lil’ man.”

                He twitches, and you get the feeling you might as well have punched him. “Oh. Right. You probably can tell pretty easily. But I’m not your Dave.”

                Okay. You know some bullshit when you hear it, because like _fuck_ Dave isn’t ‘your Dave,’ and anyone who tries to tell you otherwise is going to get your foot shoved so far up their ass they taste leather. But ain’t no way you’re going to actually going to say anything that sincere out loud, so you just cross your arms and say, “Care to explain?”

                Honestly, it doesn’t make much sense. Any sense. At all. Time travel? If this was coming from anyone else, you’d call them on this load of horseshit right away, but Dave is right here and he’s _orange,_ with _wings_ (and a fucking sword through his stomach, you haven’t forgotten that part). And the important part is that as far as his life went, you died or disappeared or what-the-fuck-ever months ago, and he’s been stuck on this lava planet with nobody but his Lalonde friend for company ever since.

                And you _didn’t_ do that, obviously, because you’re right here, right now, but you still can’t help feeling this nasty, twisting guilt that there’s some universe where you just peaced out and left him and he had to go on for four months without you. You aren’t the most hands-on with how you raise him, you’re all about independence and self-sufficiency and all that good stuff, but that’s just so you can be there in the background to make sure nothing awful can happen to him when you’re not looking. Four fucking months. You don’t think you’ve gone a day without seeing your bro, not since you picked him up out of that crater, and even on those times when you need your space and it’s a few days where he doesn’t see _you_ , he always knows you’re there, keeping tabs on him. Fuck. _Four months_.

                It’s enough to make you uncurl (metaphorically, your poker face is solid gold) and offer, “Well shit, I guess then I could get behind a dramatic family reunion.”

                The words are barely out of your mouth before bam, Dave’s arms are around your neck and his face is buried against your chest. Is there even enough irony in this world to sustain this kind of exchange? Fuck it, whatever, maybe the amount of sincerity in the air can count as ironic, because you haven’t seen Dave be this clingy since he was a toddler and came down with a fever and scared you bad enough you took him to the ER in the middle of the night. You might be overdrawing your account at your personal hug bank, but fine, whatever, this is worth it.

                And fucking hugs, how do they work? Hell if you know. Arms go… somewhere. Okay, yes, hugs make logical sense from the outside, but from the inside it’s really hard to tell exactly where your hands are supposed to land. You finally settle on putting an arm around his shoulders, which is. Still weird, to be honest. You never claimed to be good at physical affection. And this leaves your hand right in a pile of feathers. Feathers attached to your little bro. You can hear his wings rustling when he moves.

                He’s still clinging on to you and haha okay time to change this up you have probably exceeded your hug quota for the year. You ruffle the feathers between his wings and ask, “These permanent, or just for fashion?”

                He shivers when you mess with his feathers, but only shrugs without backing off an inch. He’s pressed so close his glasses are digging into you, and so’s… yeah, fuck, the sword hilt. Okay, _fuck that_ , it already bothers you enough without you thinking that every time you so much as breathe, you’re jostling that thing that’s buried _in his guts—_ Yeah, _no._

                Deep breaths, okay, keep your chill, and in your blandest voice, “Is that a sword in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

                That does make him pull back, and you don’t miss the way he carefully doesn’t scrub at his eyes. Fuck. Okay. Fine. You can deal with some more dramatic family reunion as soon as that sword is gone. “Oh, I—”

                You reach for the hilt. “Stop me if this gets weird.” By which you mean everything is too fucking weird for words already but if you hurt him, he’d better punch you in the face. You put your left hand on his hip to make sure he stays steady, and he braces himself against your shoulders. You can feel his tail thing wrapping around your leg too, and keeping himself lined up and still, that’s good, if you accidentally cut him up worse getting this thing out, he’d better punch you, and then you’ll also punch yourself a few times for good measure.

                There’s yellow blood? Not blood? (Fuck, there is literally no good answer to that question). Whatever it is, it’s dripping lazily down his stomach as you put your hand on the hilt. You don’t want to look at it, but you can’t look away now. Deep breath. You pull the sword out slowly, even though the slide of it against, against fucking _Dave_ makes you want to whip it out in one clean pull. But no, you’ve got this, okay? Dave’s grip is tight enough on your shoulders that it’s probably leaving bruises and his tail is cutting off blood flow to your leg, this is already bad enough without you losing your chill and making it worse.

                It takes about a million times longer than you wish it would, plenty of time to realize that you’re even less comfortable with the situation than you thought you were. It’s even enough time to realize that hey, if this was the sword in his pants, than you just whipped that sword right out, _ha_ , inappropriate jokes are much better than thinking about your little bro impaled and alone and dripping blood—But it’s done, it’s free, you drop the sword on the floor and spread your arms. “Dramatic family reunion, take two?”

                Yep, you read that right. There’s Dave up in your personal space again, and you don’t go for this kind of thing often, you can deal with taking a bullet, just for now. His tail is still anchored around your leg, and change of pace, instead of burying his face in your chest he’s graduated to burying it in the side of your neck. Figuring out what the fuck to do with your hands is still one of the great mysteries of the universe, and you finally settle for resting them on his hips.

                Mhm, yeah, you’re still as bad at this whole physical comfort thing as you ever were. But Dave isn’t letting go, and you would probably win the title of biggest asshole in the universe if you peeled him off of you right now. And you do want to be here. You do. As far as you know, some version of you fell through on protecting your little bro, and if you hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t be here and all fucked up like this. You’re going to deal with this until he decides to let go, okay? Okay. And you’re trying not to be a jerk about this (no, sincerely, you’re a natural-born jerk attempting to suppress all your most jerkish instincts), but you can’t help running your mouth, just a little.

                “Sure you aren’t going to start up with the inappropriate poking again, lil’ man? Once might be an accident, but do it twice and a guy might start getting some funny ideas.”

                That surprises a laugh from him, and you feel it more than you hear it, because his breath puffs against your neck, right through the open collar of your shirt. You shiver once before clamping right the fuck down on that reaction. This situation is already weird enough without you making it weirder, thank you very much.

                But apparently you’re the only one aboard the not-making-things-weirder train, because Dave shifts—Just a little, but enough that his lips are pressed up against the side of your neck.

                Huh.

                Well.

                He just stayst where he is, not moving like it was totally just a crazy accident that he ended up like this, weird how that happens, but you know some plausible deniability when you see it. You take a couple slow breaths to consider. You would _not_ have pushed Dave in this direction yourself, you seriously aren’t _that_ kind of asshole. But if he’s initiating, are you interested? You shut your eyes and you can feel his breath against your neck and the pressure of his tail against your leg. Hm. Signs seem to be pointing to hell yes.

                Still, okay, plausible deniability, just in case you’re reading Dave wrong. You really don’t think you are, not with the way he’s pressed up all against you, with his hands wrapped around your back and bunched in your shirt. But. Just in case. You already feel like the worst bro in the world for letting _any_ version of Dave wind up like this, you don’t know if you’d be able to forgive yourself if you went for this and it turned out he didn’t want it. So you start slow. Your hands are already on his hips, you just let your thumbs rub little circles into his skin, almost absently, something that you could do on accident without ever meaning to. Not like your full attention is on every point of contact between the two of you or anything. Heh.

                You definitely called it, though, because you can feel the way his breath just barely catches, and he’s always been so easy to read, he might as well have asked out loud if you really mean it, he telegraphs it that clearly. You tilt your head to the side to let him at your neck, just a hair, but it’s enough for him to feel with his mouth right against you the way it is. You can practically see the gears turning in his head, and you know the exact moment he decides fuck it, damn the torpedoes, full steam ahead.

                Dave shifts against you that tiniest bit closer, you can feel him take a shaky breath, and this time the way his lips press against your neck is definitely a kiss. “Bro,” he says against your skin. “ _Bro._ ”

                You don’t say anything. What’s there to say? You’re here and he’s here and you’re so fucking sorry in ways you’d never be able to articulate. You tilt your head for him a little more, and when your body tries to shiver at the feeling of his breath against your neck, you let it.

                Even that little reaction is enough to get him to make a little noise in the back of his throat, and he practically throws himself at you leaving haphazard kisses all over your neck and jaw, his arms wrapped tight around your ribcage, and his chest sliding against yours every time he moves. You (metaphorically) shake yourself, it might be interesting to see how far he’d go on his own without any cues from you, but you can’t forget, you’re being not-a-douchebag right now. As far as you’re concerned, this is about your little bro a hell of a lot more than it’s about you.

                So you get your hands in the game, turn that loose, casual grip on his hips into nice big possessive handfuls. It’s. Reassuring. Some version of you might have fucked up and ditched him to fend for himself, but you’re here now and you don’t think you’ll ever forget the feeling of finding your bro left all alone with a sword through his gut. Yeah, two handfuls isn’t enough. You pull him up against you, really get your arms around him, up under his wings, _fuck_ feathers being weird or whatever, all that matters is that he’s _here_ , and you just hold him there.

                Yeah, turns out you aren’t built to sustain that kind of sincerity for more than a few seconds. Gotta balance those Emotions with some high-grade Irony. So you drop one hand down to Dave’s ass to cop a feel. It’s ironic because. Because you said so, that’s why. As it happens, it’s a little difficult to think through the many subtleties of the theory of irony when Dave is leaving wet, sucking kisses all along the underside of your chin. It’s _kind_ of distracting.

                What’s also distracting is aiming for a handful of ass, when, as it happens, there’s no ass to be found. You grab and miss twice, which is embarrassing enough, but when you break away from Dave to take a look over his shoulder, oh. _Right_. Tail. You hadn’t really processed, but… yeah, that would change things up a bit. You don’t mind, not exactly. But you don’t know if you like it either. It’s interesting, in the abstract. In practice, it’s a constant reminder that you, _you_ fucked up, and now your little bro, the bro you were supposed to protect, is down one set of limbs, up another set, you left him alone for _four fucking months—_ Okay, cutting off that train of thought right now.

                You don’t think you’re showing much of anything on your face, but shit. That’s probably enough for Dave. He’s watching you more closely than you’d like, and not gonna lie, you’re a bit frozen. Then you feel his tail sliding up around your leg, and all of a sudden you’ve got some impudent jutting happening right beneath your hand.

                “Want some more?” Dave asks. His tail ripples around your leg again, and more of it swells out beneath your hand. “I’m packing all the booty here that mortal man could desire.” He looks down and his mouth quirks before he smooths it out, and you can’t tell whether it’s trying to turn up or down. “Might be a little lacking in cheeks, but it’s cool, I’ve got what, five, six feet of total potential ass to make up for it?”

                You have your doubts as to the coolness of any party involved in this mess, but you’ll take an easy out. And fff, if his tail keeps sliding against you like that, you’re going to be the one poking him inappropriately before long. You’ve already got a bit of a pants situation happening, but you want to pace yourself, let Dave decide when things go where. You’re well aware that you’re the jaded asshole in this situation, but you’re doing your best to keep the assholery under control.

                And wait. Shit. Shit, shit, _shit,_ you don’t want to be the one to bring this up, but you’re pretty sure the longer it goes, the worse it’s going to be. God _dammit_. “So since you don’t have legs anymore.”

                “Yeah?” He’s gone back to nibbling on your neck now, and you don’t really want to interrupt him, and you _really_ don’t want to tell him this at all, but—

                “What’s happened to _between_ your legs?”

                He freezes. Fuck. You didn’t want to—You had to, though. He braces his hands against your chest and pushes back from you. Not too far, his tail stays locked around your leg, and you let your hands drop to his hips. Just so. You know. He knows you aren’t upset at him, no bullshit like that.

                “I don’t know,” he finally manages.

                “No…?”

                “I don’t _know_.” He takes one hand off your chest to scrub at his face. You can feel him strung too tense beneath your hands, and his poker face might not be good, but it hasn’t been _this_ bad since he was a little kid. You are the worst asshole in the universe, it is you.

                And you’ve got a nice bluescreen happening on how to deal with this, good work, brain. Super helpful stuff. Now, let’s be fair, comfort and reassurance have never been a part of your skillset, but at least you can usually manage some nice deflection or abrupt change of subject. Permanent solution to any problem: strife time, let’s go, let’s go, no emotional distress happening in these parts. That’s… not going to work here. How the fuck do you even go about fixing a problem like ‘you may or may not have just lost your dick?’

                You keep it very calm, very cool, Dave doesn’t need you freaking out when he’s already so off-balance. “I could head down south and take a look for you.”

                Haha, yeah, that’s not weird. Are you missing a dick? Why don’t I go on a treasure hunt for it? That sure is a normal thing that normal people offer. But Dave looks at you like you just offered him heaven and earth, and okay, that’s a bit overwhelming. Flattering, but overwhelming. Still, though. Anything for your little bro.

                You ease him upwards (floating sex turns out to make things much easier, physics is for losers), but you take your time, working your way down his chest, giving _yourself_ time to make peace with the fact that yeah, you might finish this up by having to tell Dave that oops, sorry, you appear to have lost all use of your junk for the rest of forever. Hope you’re still enjoying that decision to permanently fuse yourself into a freaky orange bird sprite body, no take backs. God, you hope not. Here, Dave’s dick. Here, boy. Come on out, little fella.

                It helps that when you give his chest a little attention, rubbing his nipples through the cloth of his shirt, running your hands up under the hem, it seems like he starts to get into it again. And fuck, the way he twitches when you pinch his nipples is just the cutest thing, seriously, this should be illegal with how cute it is. You’re happy to tease him through the shirt, but it doesn’t take him long at all to get impatient and whip his shirt off over his head. How does that even work with wings? What an excellent question, but fortunately you have already established that fuck physics. Just fuck it. You’d love to keep playing with him like this, the skin-to-skin contact is so reassuring that yes, he’s here, he’s _okay_ (for questionable values of okay, but you’ll take what you can get), but he’s still so tense, and right. This problem won’t go away until you nut up and figure out whether you bro has any junk anymore. Right. Fuck.

                You skip right over the sword wound because okay, yeah, you’re _not_ lingering here, nope. You jump straight down to where his crotch is (was? no, fuck that, stay positive). It’s all pretty blank and featureless. Come on, little Dave, you don’t want to come out and play by now, just a little? Your heart sinks, just a bit, but you’re going to give this the old college try. You’ll go over this whole tail with a fine tooth comb, if that’s what it takes. And by fine tooth comb, you mean your mouth.

                His hips are the last real indication of where human anatomy gives up the ghost and turns into a big mystery tentacle tail, so you start there and work down. Wet, messy kisses, _everywhere_ , that is your solution, with the double benefits that one, you don’t have to make eye contact with your bro as you try and fail to find his junk, and two, that if there is junk to be found, maybe wet, messy kisses will convince it to come out of hiding. There had better be junk somewhere down here, because if there isn’t, you’re officially the worst bro of all time for leading Dave on like this, for spinning him all up when there _is_ no solution, when this whole thing ends in you telling him that there is no solution. Fuck that noise.

                Now, you’re trying to keep track of where you are, what ground you’ve covered, all of that good stuff. Turns out that’s a little hard when Dave is doing a shitty-ass job of holding still. Sure, it’s flattering that he keeps thrashing around while you do your best to make out with every square inch of skin on his tail, but you’d be a lot more flattered if his goddamn dick would just come out of hiding already.

                As it turns out, that’s exactly your problem. Dick. You’re looking for dick because you know that’s what Dave’s equipped with, you used to change his diapers, for fuck’s sake. So you’re _really_ not expecting it when you find a spot that gives under your mouth, where your tongue presses forward into tight, wet heat. You blurt an accidental noise against him, which is embarrassing as hell, but it’s okay because Dave makes a _much_ louder noise, grabbing your hair and yanking you forward against him, grinding his hips up against your face.

                It takes a moment to disengage Dave’s hands from your hair and to disengage your mouth from his… junk? You mean yes, of course this is his junk, or so close it doesn’t matter. You pull back just far enough to get a decent look at what you’re dealing with. Dave’s hands go right back to your hair, though he doesn’t pull you forward like before (where’s your hat? did he just knock it off? fuck it, it’s fine). You take a deep breath and move your hands to the nearly-invisible slit. Your bro makes another noise when you part the folds—carefully, carefully, you honestly don’t have a fucking clue about what you’re dealing with here. Just a few light touches is more than enough to confirm that whatever the fuck is going on, this is _definitely_ getting some nice reactions. And wait, oh fuck, holy shit.

                “So you’re, what, half human, half bird?”

                It takes him a moment to parse the question. “I—mmnn, yeah, I think, I. What, that doesn’t matter right now—”

                You give the slit another experimental lick, and his words choke off. “Do any reading on bird anatomy lately?”

                “Hnn?”

                Aw, he can’t even words. That’s pretty precious. So you take mercy and give him the answer. “You’ve got a hot little pussy now.” Well, close enough, anyways. “Shit, you’ve been holding out on me, lil’ man.”

 _That_ gets his attention. He lets go of your shoulders and curls forward to take a look himself. When he runs a finger over that little, barely-visible slit, he shivers. He doesn’t look unhappy, but he doesn’t look much of anything. You’re also pretty sure he has no fucking clue how to deal with this. Not really a situation anybody spends much time thinking about, is it? Wow, if I woke up with a cloaca, how would I react to that situation? Yeah, somehow you seem to have lived your life without that ever coming up even once.

                Well, if Dave is still confused, you’re going to do your best to swing this positive for him. However weird this is (it’s pretty weird), it’s still infinitely better than having to tell him that sorry, his junk is gone for permanent. So you offer, “ _Hot_.”

                Not much of a compliment, honestly. Just another skill you never really leveled up. But it seems like it’s good enough. Dave’s face fucking lights up before he clamps down on the reaction. His hands come back to rest tentatively on your shoulders and he says, “Yeah?” His hips arch up towards you. Pff, okay, you can take a hint.

                “Hell fucking yes.” You carefully ease a finger into him. Exotic new anatomy is fun and all, but if there’s anyone you’re _not_ going to risk hurting by diving in too fast, it’s your little bro. “Just look at this tight little hole, and _fuck_ , you’re so wet. Aw, is that for me? You shouldn’t have.”

                He laughs, and you graciously ignore just how shaky his voice is. “A—Anything for my favorite bro.”

                “Oh yeah? Anything? Sounds like you might be getting in over your head, lil’ man.” You spread him wider, add a second finger. His hands are tight on your shoulders, and fuck, fuck it, you’ve got control of yourself, you can take this slowly, you promise, but you _really_ want there to be less clothing in the way.

                You break away for just a moment to tug your shirt over your head. It takes Dave a second to catch on, but he figures out what’s up quick enough to untangle his tail from your leg. Hell yes, you want to know what that thing feels like against you without jeans in the way. And heh, Dave takes the few seconds you spend kicking off your pants to go back to tentatively feeling out his fun new junk. Not freaking out is good. You can deal with not freaking out, and you can _definitely_ deal with interested exploration.

                When you reach out to get your hands on his hips, he braces himself on your forearms and arches up towards your face, and yeah, that’s a thing you’re on board with. You give his pussy a nice big open-mouthed kiss. Dave’s nails are digging into your arms, which yep, seems like a clue to get wetter and messier. Anything for _your_ favorite bro, it runs both ways. And hey, it’s oral without an angle that’s murder on your neck, this is something you could definitely get used to.

                Dave’s tail wraps around your waist, coiling slowly downward, and fuck yes, _fuck yes_ , you’re hard enough to drill a hole through solid rock, you want to feel that tentacle on your junk, you want it—And fff, if your bro is driving this tentacle train, he’s got a lot more control than you gave him credit for, because he manages to wrap the narrow end of it right around your cock. _God_ , yes.

                It doesn’t last that long, because he makes a surprised noise and pushes away from you. You give his pussy one last goodbye kiss as he drifts downward and disengages from your cock, which is. The opposite of what you want, really, but you can keep your chill, you’re not going to be any more of a demanding asshole than you already are. But Dave just reaches out and lifts your dick up to look at the underside, and ha, right. You forgot about your ladder.

                “Holy _shit_ , bro.”

                Pffft. “All the cool kids are doing it.”

                He doesn’t say anything, just runs a finger along the line of piercings. You can feel his fingers catch and release on the bars, one-two-three-four-five-six, little jerks of sensation, and you can’t hide the way your cock jumps and drools precum on his hand.

                Dave looks up at you and grins, “Looks like I’m not the only one who’s wet.”

                Ahaha, that little shit. Does you good to see him talking back. You reach down for a dripping handful of pussy. “Do you really want to turn this into a contest, bro?”

                All you get out of him is “Mm _nnn_ —” Yeah, that sounds like you winning the argument. Although given the noises he’s making, and the way he’s got a hand wrapped tight around your cock, you think it might be more fair to say that you’re both winning at life.

                You’ve got a little more idea of what he can handle now, and you fuck him nice and deep with your fingers while he leans his forehead against your shoulder and does his best to focus on jacking you off. Every time he starts to get into the rhythm of it, you make a point of flexing your fingers, throwing him off and making him gasp against your skin. Maybe you’re only keeping a lid on _some_ of the assholery.

                It takes him a little while to get his words back in order once you start working him over, but the first thing out of his mouth is “Bro, bro, _fuck me_ , please fuck me, I, I need—“

                Fuck, god _damn_ , his pussy feels so good around your fingers and Dave wants it and you want it, and you’re halfway there already when you catch yourself. Fuck _, fuck,_ you want it, you want it so bad, but— “Sorry, no can do.”

                Dave sobs and scrabbles at your shoulders, dragging himself further up, and before you know what he’s aiming for, he’s already kissing you, hard and deep. It’s not the best kiss you’ve ever had, he doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing and it shows, but he throws everything into it. His arms are draped over your shoulders, and his shades bounce off yours as you take control of the kiss, and _damn_ but he follows your lead like a dream. He just yields into anything you do, and you’re swallowing the little noises he makes and you want to fuck him _so much_.

                Finally he pulls away, shudders, and gasps, “Bro, _please_.”

                Fuck your life, fuck past you and _especially_ fuck past you’s opinions on sensible body modifications, because, “ _Dave_. Tell me, you have much experience with what that pussy of yours can handle? Because I think you have just as much experience as I do, and let me tell you, I’ve got no idea what the fuck those piercings are going to do to you.”

                He practically sobs in frustration. Honestly, you could do the same. The thought of fucking him bloody is—No, _fuck no_ , you’re not going to hurt your little bro, even if he begs you, you’re not going through with _anything_ you think might hurt him. But god, you want to be in him so hard it hurts.

                You’re still knuckle-deep in him, though, and hey, turns out to be simple enough to distract him when every flex of your fingers gets these kind of intense reactions. Fuck, you could just watch his face, take in all his expressions, all the ways you can play him like an instrument. But he’s still hanging off your shoulders and leans forward into another deep, wet kiss. In some ways, that’s even better, feeling every moan he tries to hide against your lips, feeling every tiny shift of his body as you fuck him with your fingers.

                The only downside of this arrangement is that it leaves your junk lonely and neglected, but hey, advantages of this new sprite business, Dave can float on his own just fine, and that leaves you with a spare hand for your cock. You can feel Dave out with your fingers and imagine it’s your cock buried in him, that he’s riding your cock making all these desperate overwhelmed noises, that you can feel his walls flexing around you, that you can feel him shiver every time your piercings bump up against his entrance.

                His tail coils around you again, starting at your knee and winding slowly up your leg. You don’t notice much, honestly, you have _plenty_ of other things happening to hold your attention. But you sure as fuck notice when his tail brushes across your asshole and taint, curls up against your balls. It surprises you enough that you jerk up against him, your cock brushing up against your fingers where they’re buried in him and he’s so hot and _wet_ and that’s it, that tips you over the edge, and you come all over Dave, breathing hard against his mouth as you milk your cock for everything it’s got.

                Okay. _Fuck_. Yeah, okay, keeping it together still, not the time to roll over and fall asleep. You unwrap Dave from your leg real fast, because at this point it’s gone from feeling like yes-good to feeling like ok-too-much, everything is too bright and intense. And you think he doesn’t want to let go. But hey, this gives you the space to lift him up just a bit further, far enough to get your mouth _and_ hands on him, so yeah, you don’t hear any arguments.

                It doesn’t take much. You spread him with two fingers and seal your mouth over him, driving your tongue in as far as it will go, kissing his pussy the same way you just kissed his mouth, and his hands are tangled in your hair and he’s saying things that mostly sound like ‘god, bro, _please—‘_

                So when he starts shaking and grinds his hips up against your face so hard you can barely breathe, you figure that yeah, you’re doing something right. You hold out without air like a goddamn pro, keeping it up until he finally pushes you away, breathing so hard it sounds almost like sobs. He’s just floating there in the air, all uncertain, so you reel him in one last time, close enough kiss him nice and slow with the taste of him still on your tongue.

                Dave’s tail is wrapped around your chest, tight coils all the way down to your waist. As soon as you’re sure you’re not about to sit on wings or tail or any of that shit, you let yourself sink to the ground. Your legs are a little shaky, and you think you deserve this, okay? The kiss just kind of peters out eventually, and all that’s left is you and Dave leaned up against each other, cheek to cheek, in an awkward tangle of body parts. Dramatic family reunion is a go.

                And damn is it awkward. Comfortable, but awkward. Pillow talk is one of the great mysteries of life, and that goes double when          it’s your little bro. Emotional intimacy, what? After careful consideration, you try, “So you’re a sprite.” _Fuck_.

                Dave rolls with it though. “Every game player gets one. We’re supposed to help the players through the game. Apparently.”

                “Huh.” You roll that back and forth in your head. And you keep your hands on Dave, don’t make any effort to unwrap the two of you from each other. Even if you can’t manage the pillow talk, you figure you at least owe your bro some cuddles. “You got all the level codes? Infinite ammo? Up up down down left right left right bee ay, am I immortal now?”

                You can feel his mouth quirk against your cheek. “Nope. But I do have got a metric shit-ton of other cheat codes.”

                You straighten. “What, seriously?”

                He pulls back a little, only far enough for the two of you to look at each other. “Yeah? That’s what sprites are for, except we’re supposed to make players ‘earn’ it, or whatever bullshit.”

                “Huh.” You said that already. But damn, this isn’t what you were expecting. At _all_. And you know what? You can work with this. Dave is watching you, and you’re not sure what he’s thinking. But right now? Right now you’ve got _ideas_. “You ready to hit the road, lil’ man?”

                Dave disentangles himself and drifts off a few feet, tosses you your pants. “Why? Dave said he didn’t care about that stuff.”

                You shrug. “Dave gets to make his own bad decisions.” And as his bro, it’s your job to follow along behind him, and make sure those bad decisions don't fuck him over. You’re his bro. It’s what you _do_. “You and me, we’re going to go win this game together.”

                Dave tugs his shirt on, and critical poker face failure, he legit looks eager and interested. “But we’re not players.”

                You finish pulling your clothes on and shrug. “Fuck that noise. What’s the point of cheat codes if you don’t use them to cheat?” You hesitate for a moment, because physical affection, what? Fuck it. You sling an arm around Dave’s shoulders. “Let’s go kick some ass, I've got two little bros to protect.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/119740390701/this-world-is-in-a-losing-game-spockandawe)


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